


Run, like it's time that's chasing us

by tarquin



Category: Rooster Teeth Productions RPF
Genre: M/M, Zombie AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-26 22:45:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/655203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarquin/pseuds/tarquin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Achievement Hunters vs the zombie apocalypse. Hearts and heads grow heavy, and even the smartest minds run dull. But you're not allowed to die yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Run, like it's time that's chasing us

The smell of putrid skin is getting stronger and Michael’s heart races. Backed into the corner of a tool shed, his hands are running over idea after idea, settling on a hedge clipper, hesitating, and returning to the shovel he’d liked better. He knows now that he probably should have talked to Geoff before heading out here, probably should have grabbed a gun. But he’s done neither and now he’s counting three slumped over shapes heading for the door of the shed, getting closer by the second.

He should feel fear. Should be worrying about the end of his life and getting his throat torn out by the undead. But it’s been six months since the beginning of the apocalypse and some days it’s best to face a hoard of the undead just to remember you’re still among the alive.

To be unabashedly honest, his life’s something he treats as secondhand now. Now that Michael’s seen just what a thin line it balances on- sane, human thoughts one second and insatiable bloodlust the next, he knows he’s spending his every moment of existence one bad coin flip away from death.

He won’t miss himself when he dies.

At the same time he has to blink away these thoughts, because humanity is an ocean that’s shrunk to a puddle and every life counts, at least to someone else. Hell, other people’s lives counted to Michael too, before he had to cave in their skulls and douse them in kerosene before tossing a flaming lighter their way.

So as he approaches the door of the tool shed with the shovel in hand, he reminds himself of the pain he’d felt at the drop of his friend’s bodies under his own power, and it reminds him to survive. Because Michael won’t miss himself when he dies, but Ray will. Geoff and Jack and Ryan will.

Gavin will.

He grits his teeth, maybe a minute thirty until rigid bone and nail starts to paw at the door’s hinges. Months ago he’d be panicked right now, whispering what he could remember of a Hail Mary while his slick palms made the weapon in his hands tremble.

He checks his surroundings one more time.

The sun is in his favor, he thinks. It’s setting behind the shed and giving him two to three seconds of headway. In those moments he’ll have to kill or stun at least one of the monsters and swing hard again. If he’s lucky, someone near bye will be doing the designated parameter check, rounding up stray zombies and leading them to a firing range or a lake or a patch of grass soaked in gasoline. If Michael intersects with the night patrol he can make it out unscathed.

If not, he’ll have a hell of a lot more fun.

Michael’s just absorbed in his plans enough not to notice the shadow outside the tool shed’s dusty window, cresting a hill a few yards away. When the shape flickers again Michael sighs, beginning to calculate a fourth dead body into his plans. 

But that’s before he sees how erect the spine of this walker is, or the twin paintball guns bouncing off its legs as it walks.

He does, however, hear the pap-pap-papping of soft shots being fired, and watches with a sordid expression as the zombies turn to face their assailant, huffing and moaning as they’re pelted with pseudo-shots.

“C’mon, you lot.” Comes a voice, and Michael feels his lips tug into a smile. “Get away from theeeere.”

A flurry of pops and Michael can see the mob turning, reaching out for the one who now stands a couple yards behind them, unwavering and loud. 

Unwavering, at least, at first.

Michael’s too far away to see Gavin’s expression, but he can hear it in the waver of his voice as he coughs, still urging the monsters towards him.

“Th-that’s right. Get closer. Further away from the door. The door. _The Door._ ”

And there it is. There’s the “ _Michael don’t let me get eaten by these things_ ” voice. That “ _Ray’s not close enough and you are_ ” voice. The “ _I know you’re not going to let me die, but fuck I’m scared get out of the toolshed Michael,_ ” Voice.

And so he obliges.

Too into the moment to stifle a battle cry, Michael lets out a brute yell as he barges out. The first swing of his arm sticks the sharp end of the shovel through one of the monster’s shoulder blades, and he pulls back as quick as it turns around. By the time he gets his first real look in those hazy, yellowed eyes, he’s already cocked his arm back and in the next second the spade is breaking through remnants of bone and skin like fresh earth.

More shots fire in the distance, and Michael can see Gavin’s attempt to lure the other two towards him. It’s no use now though, they’re closer to the shed then they are Gavin, and Michael’s battle cry did little to help.

Dislodging the shovel from the skull of his last victim, Michael steps forward and urges the others within striking range. On the hill, Gavin starts to move in, and Michael can only imagine the complaining he’ll have to endure when the Brit has to clean zombie debris off the gun’s muzzle.

To the east of both of them, from the direction of the abandoned farmhouse they’re hunkered down in, two shots are fired. These ones sound a lot more real than the petty thuds from Gavin’s toys, and they are. This is learned as the zombie nearest to Michael twists, groaning as the collective contents of its skull spill out its temple.

Michael doesn’t give the distant sharpshooter another chance to waste a bullet as he brings the flat of the shovel down directly on the one monster still standing. There’s a satisfying crunch as the bone caves, and a second later the body crumples, hitting the ground with a thud.

Heart still in his ears and eyes wide, Michael lets out a satisfied laugh. 

“Michael!” Come two voices of different tones. One is saccharine, coming from the direction of Gavin, who sprints towards him now with a grin on his face mirroring Michael’s own. The other is more blunt, angry, and belongs to Geoff who stands in front of the house with a hunting rifle in hand. 

Sticking the head of his shovel into the filth soaked earth, Michael greets Gavin first.

“What were you doing?!” Gavin’s voice is shrill.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Michael says coolly as the boy reaches him. “How’s the patrol going?”

Gavin laughs, but it’s nervous and tight and the kind of laugh someone uses when they were absolutely terrified moments before. Michael remembers what it’s like to feel bad and regret his actions for a second.

“It was going well enough until some bloody idiot got himself cornered in a tool shed.” He spits, voice high.

“Woah, what an asshole.” Michael replies.

Before Gavin can say anything else, another voice cuts them off.

“Hey, jackasses!” Geoff’s voice barks across them again, and this time Michael turns to it, squinting in the dying sun.

“Yeah?” He says casually. Gavin chuckles.

“Get up here.” Geoff demands, and both boys know better than to disobey. Geoff’s the one with military training, the one who knows how to survive in a war scarred world, and the only one with a patience to booze scale that tips in their favor.

Michael knocks his shoulder with Gavin’s as they head towards the house.

~~

Michael is spared a safety lecture once they’re all inside the house. Geoff spends a minute or so asking him what kind of shitbrained idea led him towards a lockless tool shed without a weapon, and then runs a hand through his hair in exasperation when the auburn haired boy shrugs it off, muttering, “I dunno.”

“Yeah well,” Geoff says as Gavin walks up beside them, “You’re lucky your boyfriend was there to save your ass. Next time you might not be so lucky.”

And Michael’s been reckless today. 

He’s danced toe to toe with death and he’s dealt blows that he’d never thought he’d dish out with anything but a video game controller. And yet, those trailing, thoughtless words of Geoff’s are the one thing to make his ears go hot and his stomach flip.

He walks away.

~~

Punishment for recklessness is night watch outside the house. Seated on a porch step with a revolver on his lap, Michael watches the flat farmland in every direction, eyes peeled for listless, hazed movement. The wind blows a promise of a cold autumn, but no threats. 

Behind him, the door opens and yellow light spills over him, accompanied by footsteps.

He looks up.

“You guys got the lights working?” He asks as the steps reach him and he feels the toes of boots rest against the small of his back.

“Backup generator, like you said.” Comes the reply. “They’re still working on the water heater though. And the pantry’s stocked with pasta and soup.”

Gavin pronounces pasta “Pah-stuh.” It makes Michael smile.

“So we’re staying here for a while.” He doesn’t take his eyes off the fields. 

“A few days, at least.”

“Cool.”

A beat. A reply.

“Cool.”

Gavin hesitates, shifting weight from foot to foot before caving and joining Michael on his step. He sits close enough so that auburn haired boy can feel his body heat, and so he leans into it. A second later he feels Gavin’s head on his shoulder, and then the soft scrape of his stubble as the boy tries to look him in the eyes.

“So, why were you in the tool shed today, anyway?” 

Letting out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, he tips his head to rest on Gavin’s. The wind pushes his hair in front of his eyes but he doesn’t care to fix it. His thoughts swim.

“I don’t fuckin’ know,” he answers, finally. “No one else had checked it out yet, I guess? There might have been something good in there.”

“So you went in without telling anyone where you were, unarmed, at sunset.”

Michael looks down into Gavin’s eyes, reading his disapproval.

“Yep.”

“…Pretty stupid.”

“We’re all getting pretty stupid.” Michael responds, almost immediately. “We’re either getting bored, aimless, or we just don’t give a shit anymore.”

Gavin squeaks a disagreement but Michael pushes past it, the heat of his words and Gavin’s closeness making him burn.

“Ray lets zombies get close enough to suck his dick before he puts a bullet through them, Geoff punched one because it had a bottle of cognac in its pocket.”

Gavin tries to object, but there’s already a tidal wave building on Michael’s lips. Arguments would win him nothing and Gavin knows this, so instead he slumps into Michael’s shoulder.

“You ever see how Jack taunts one before he sets it on fire,” Michael continues, “Or how Ryan rounds up five or six before he even goes on the offensive? Fuck, Gavin, you ran towards three zombies today with a paint ball gun, you didn’t even blink twice.” 

He pauses to breathe. The world around him is silent. Gavin is silent.

“None of us care anymore, Gavin. We’re all just waiting to die, with little pockets of living in the middle.”

And by the time Michael’s done spitting his words, his hands are cradling the gun in his lap. His thumb rolls the barrel fervently. He watches as Gavin’s hand cautiously approaches his own, then rests on top of it, then stills it.

Michael can feel the blood in his veins race, and he can feel it settle.

“So if we’re all waiting to die, then what’s keeping us alive?” Gavin asks softly.

Michael waits for his vision to clear before he responds. He lets the weight of his head rest on Gavin’s fully, and he draws in a clear, cold breath.

“Well, I can’t speak for everyone, but.” He removes his hands from the gun and allows Gavin’s fingers to squeeze his.

The boy chuckles.

“And for how long do you think that will last?” He asks.

Michael pauses, and when he talks again his tone isn’t as hardened as before.

“Well, how long will you or me think it’s a good idea to charge zombies with miniscule or no firearms? Or better yet, how long will one of us be stupid enough to put ourselves in situations to beget it?”

“Or,” Gavin adds, “How long will Geoff laugh at that, or Ray ask why he wasn’t invited, or Jack put up with us or Ryan try and do us one better?”

Gavin starts to laugh softly and soonafter Michael is giggling along with him. With Gavin beside him, Michael realizes he feels lighter now, that his mind less murky and that there might even be a spark of hope left somewhere inside him. The moment of clarity is a welcome change.

“I think we’ve got a while left.” Gavin says. He studies the stars above them and then the gleam in Michael’s smile. He knocks his knee with Michael’s and Michael knocks his back.

“Yeah, maybe a while.” The boy agrees.


End file.
